


Not Today

by bluetoast



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Badass Arya, Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 21:50:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2556977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetoast/pseuds/bluetoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya muses over her past as she leaves Westeros for Bravos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Today

The sea was gray, augmented with blue and white. Arya couldn't remember the sea from her voyage south. That had been another Arya, another lifetime. Before everything went to hell. Before her father was executed, before her mother and elder brother were killed, before her little brothers were slaughtered. She leaned against the railing, her gaze outward, towards her future, towards Bravos.

There was a shade of blue in the water that reminded her of Sansa. 

Sansa. Silly, silly Sansa.

She wondered where her sister was now, somewhere other than King's Landing.

Sansa was far to trusting for her own damn good.

Perhaps Sansa wasn't so foolish now.

Arya ran her fingers along the wood, wondering if Jon was safe on the Wall, if he knew anything about their sister. Did Sansa think she was dead? No doubt both of her remaining siblings thought she was long gone. It was bittersweet – she could let go of Sansa, she had let go of her sister the moment she had taken up the guise of Arry and left King's Landing. It was harder to let go of Jon. It was even harder now that she had Needle back. 

Perhaps she would never let go of Jon. She didn't have to – he was on the Wall, and on the Wall he would remain. He would never return to Winterfell either.

Winterfell was gone. Gone like Robb, Bran and Rickon.

Winterfell was no more, like Mother and Father.

Arya looked behind her, back to the west – and saw that the coastline of Westeros was long gone, it was not even a dark streak on the horizon. It was in her past, and it was not even a shadow to her any longer. 

Needle was her past, present and future. She had told herself once that it was her brothers and sister and parents, the wolves and Winterfell. No matter what lay in her future, she would not surrender her blade.

She did not know what waited for her in Bravos, except that there were no Lannisters waiting. There was also no one there to welcome her with open arms, to take her into an embrace and smother her in kisses and hugs. To wash away the grime of travel and pain, there was no home in Bravos, but Arya had grown used to homelessness. A wolf without a den, a wolf without a pack. 

Her pack and home had all been stolen and destroyed, mainly at the hands and words of a boy who fancied himself a man. He was gone too – and Arya hoped it had been unspeakably painful.

Joffery was dead, may he burn in all Seven Hells.

Sansa was lost in Westeros, may the Mother and Maiden save Sansa.

Jon guarded the Wall, may the Father and Warrior protect Jon.

Bran and Rickon were dead, no doubt somewhere in the Seven Heavens with Robb and their parents.

Arya did not envy them; not entirely.

She had her own god to protect and guide her.

Death.

There is only one thing you said to the god of Death - _not today._


End file.
